


Lions

by ummmm600



Category: Shawshank Redemption - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Idk what this is but I hope it’s okay, Internal Thoughts, Other, Overthinking, Thinking, just a short little story, memeories, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ummmm600/pseuds/ummmm600
Summary: Andy mulled over damn near everything. Everything, anything he could, just so he could keep the memories of the past away.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Lions

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a little drabble, I was gonna turn it into something more but I lost interest (and what I originally had in mind I was not comfortable with writing).  
> So yeah — this is just a little something something to play around with character I guess

Andy often found himself racking the innards of his mind while working in the laundry room. Digging deep at his memories, tugging away at each and every thought that came across his mind. It was a brilliant way for him to pass the time, he found.

It was easy to get lost in his thoughts. It was easy to forget everything and simply dive deep into reasoning and logical explanations. It was shockingly, painfully easy. He mulled over damn near everything; why humans decided to utilize plastic based products. Why they decided to drink cow's milk. How language functioned. Why people collected insects as a hobby. 

He mulled over damn near everything. That was how he decided to pass the time.

It took away the monotony of folding sweat-drenched clothes, at the very least. 

The best thing about being lost in his thoughts was that there was just so _much_ he could think about. Why money was so important to people. How the banking system functioned. How psychopaths think, even. Andy could remember hearing about that in one of his University elective classes. He later dropped the course.

The science behind alcohol. How flawed the prison system was

(how guilt forms in the human mind) 

and the strange popularity of 'trash' fiction. 

Today's topic, for whatever reason, was lions. 

Most nights, he often found himself drifting to sleep thinking of fragmented memories of his former life. One night in particular was a recollection of him listening to one of those wildlife specials on the radio while his wife sat beside him, reading one of her romance novellas.

He could hardly remember the finer details. Like any sane person, he had completely forgotten about the program the day after listening to it.

But there was one part, one strange, seemingly basic part that seemed to latch onto his memory like pointed claws. In speaking about the wildlife that existed within the African savanna, the scratchy-voiced radio host had dedicated an entire section talking about how predators, specifically lions, hunt and attack their food. 

_(Lions typically stalk their prey, sometimes for hours on end, waiting under a shield of darkness until the perfect time to strike arrives.)_

It seemed an odd choice for his mind to hyper-fixate on, especially now, but the memory would not leave him for the entire night. It would continuously play over and over in front of his eyes like a poorly-cut-and-edited film. It taunted him, the memory. It reminded him. It reminded him of his past. His old life. His _normal_ life. It reminded him of what he had lost, left behind, abandoned

(caused)

departed from, whatever you would say. His guilt lay heavy in the far reaches of his subconscious and he could not escape it. 

The best thing he could do to combat his overwhelming self-liability was to just push down the thoughts. Push down the radio host, the cozy evening glow, the cheesy book Linda was reading. Bury them away in some cobweb-infested corner of his mind. Bury them deep, far enough that he could no longer see them, no longer hear the horrid things they reminded him of. 

And that is exactly what he did. Those monotonous thoughts, the ones of _why_ and _who_ and _what_ and _how_ , were heaved up. He placed them at the forefront of his mind each morning since that night, and mulled them over until his head ached. 

He mulled over damn near everything.

Andy walked into Shawshank's basement along with the hundreds of other men, preparing himself for the inevitably painstaking work. 

He would think about music today, he decided. That would do. 

_(But usually, most stalking by lions is done just after sunset, or during the middle of the night, several hours before dawn.)_

Yes, music would do just fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno. Maybe I’ll do something more with this someday


End file.
